


Bitter and Sick

by cherrypiecas



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Deviates From Canon, Dilaudid, Drug Abuse, Drug Addict Reid, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I haven't written in forever so this sucks just a warning, Insecure Reid, Jack Hotcher is cute, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Okay Ending, Read, Recreational Drug Use, Sad with a Happy Ending, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrypiecas/pseuds/cherrypiecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid suffers from Dilaudid withdrawal. </p><p>(aka the one where reid is in pain a lot so he's a little shit but it's okay because morgan and hotch help) </p><p> </p><p>(not that kind of help you kinky people)</p><p> </p><p>(okay this is getting cringy so i'm gonna stop before it gets worse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter and Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [severaance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/severaance/gifts).



Spencer felt his whole body tense again as he chewed on his fingernail, a nervous tick he’d developed and not been able to kick ever since his parents started fighting. A shiver turned his blood cold and electrified him down to the very spine. He reached into his satchel and held the bottle of Dilaudid in his hand, hardly able to even see the label he was shaking so hard. He saw the miniscule amount of liquid and felt the tears jump to his eyes.

“Not enough.” He decided as the pain radiated through his body.

He reached for his phone and felt his fingers brush across the touchscreen. He laid in the fetal position, shaking as he punched in the numbers with trembling fingers. A tear dribbled down his cheek as he bit his nail bed again and held the phone close to his ear. He swallowed hard, trying not to sound like the pathetic little bitch he was, curled up, crying, and calling for help because he couldn’t handle himself.

“Hotch?” he croaked into the microphone.

“Reid? What’s wrong?” He heard Hotch’s concerned voice come through the speaker and he swallowed again and realized that Hotch knew how weak he was.

“Can’t, it hurts…” Spencer whimpered, “ _Please_.”

“Reid, where are you?” he asked with such burning ferocity of empathy that it only seemed appropriate for a mother caring for an ill child, not for a friend, and definitely not for a boss.

“I…I…my house,” Spencer took another breath, straining to speak, “Help.”

Spencer heard the phone hang up and sighed loudly, rubbing his temples. The cold sweat wiped off on his fingers and he held his hands behind his head. The anxiety bubbled in his stomach and rose to his throat as he felt the nervous tears dribble down his cheeks. His throat felt tight and he regretted ever touching the drug but all he could think was how much he needed it. It was like an abusive relationship, when it was good, it so good that the feeling could only be described as ineffable. However, when it was bad, it was so bad that he prayed to the God that he didn’t even fucking believe in that he could stop, that he could _escape_ , but the highs kept dragging him in. He felt stuck in the routine of using and all of the track marks on the insides of his elbows made him yelp when he touched them in the shower.

“Spencer?” He heard the front door slam open and he twitched as he struggled to wipe the tears away. He couldn’t let Hotch see him like this, sniveling and weak, half a man.

Hotch’s loud footsteps alerted Spencer that he was near and he pushed himself up so he was sitting. Wincing, he bit his nail bed again as he saw Hotch sneak around the corner. Hotch had a gun extended with a blue FBI bulletproof vest, slowly lowering it as he saw the state of Spencer. Spencer licked his lips as he saw Hotch’s eyes soften to a purely sad look. Hotch placed the gun back into the sleeve and gripped Spencer’s arm. Spencer shook profusely as he was pulled to his feet. He felt his vision blur again and himself going out of focus. Shaking his head, he wrapped his arm around Hotch’s muscular shoulder, feeling puny in comparison. The two men hobbled to through the hallway and Spencer winced again as he felt the searing pain of the aches and shakes rip through his body once again. Hotch paused for a moment, gripping Spencer’s back and reached underneath his legs, carrying his frail body. Spencer felt the tears jump to his eyes again, the anxiety tightening his throat. He struggled to blink them away and he let himself and his self-esteem diminish into Hotch’s arms. He stared as Hotch’s face and closed his eyes, attempting to keep some of his dignity. He felt the smooth faux leather of the back seat of Hotch’s car on his back and a blanket placed on top.

“Daddy, what’s wrong with Reid?” he heard a shrill voice and winced.

He heard Hotch start the car, the engine turning over perfectly.

“Reid is… Reid is very sick, buddy. We’re going to have him at our house for tonight. Okay?” Hotch’s soothing voice rinsed the urge to bite his nails away for a moment, and he took a deep breath as he shivered.

The car ride was uncomfortably long and awkward and Spencer struggled not to cry because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop when he started. The car jolted to a stop and Spencer dug his nails into the seat just to keep himself from rolling forward. He felt helpless and pathetic, wishing that the pain would all just _stop_. He kept telling himself _never again_ , but he was smarter than to blindly believe that he would just give it up. He knew it would be 2am again and he would have his delicate fingers wrapped around the phone cord, speaking to the dealer in a hushed voice, eyeing the new needles he had bought. He felt Hotch’s fingers on him again and the shakes coming back. Hotch held him bridal style, pushing his messy curls out of his face.

“Jack, go open the door, okay, buddy?” Hotch reached out and shut the door, holding Spencer close to him.

Spencer’s eyes wavered open for a second, making eye contact with Hotch for a second before closing his eyes again. They went into the couch before Hotch placed him on the couch. Spencer stared at the older man, tall and dark, but undoubtedly kind. Spencer felt the tears jump to his eyes and he had no strength to hold them back this time. His body convulsed with the sobs and he heard the soft footsteps of Jack approach.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked in a hushed voice.

Spencer wiped the snot away from his nose and felt the words jumbled on his tongue, instead just crying harder.

“Jack, please go to bed.” Hotch’s voice was curt as he held a phone to his ear.

“But daddy,” Jack whined, “Is he going to be okay?”

Hotch paused to stare at the shivering figure lying on his couch. Spencer felt the sobs rack his body and felt his lungs hurt from the crying.

“Yeah,” Hotch said quietly, seemingly unsure.

Spencer attempted deep breaths, in and out in seven second intervals as his old therapist had told him. He felt his body beginning to calm and give into the rising exhaustion. His head ached and he silently begged a deep sleep to take him under its wing.

“Hello, Morgan?” He heard Hotch say as he saw the black spots began to take over his world and drag him into the dark, soothing unconsciousness of sleep.

-

“I got him,” he heard the deep voice say as he snapped back into reality. His body jolted and the worry zipped down his spine in an icy blast.

“Hey, Reid. Morgan’s here to take you. Just relax, alright?” Hotch’s voice said to the left of him.

Morgan held him close as he picked him up, his body warmth shocking to him.

“You’re okay, kid.” Morgan whispered gently as he walked to his own car.

“Okay,” Spencer croaked, catching the scent of cinnamon and soap and _clean_ ; the smell of Morgan.

Spencer felt himself drift off again, snapping awake when Morgan’s hands were on him once again. Morgan groaned as he lifted Spencer out of the back seat, kicking the door shut. Morgan carefully carried him into the house, walking through the hall. He opened his eyes once again, only to see Morgan’s sad expression and half-frown.

“You’re going to be okay,” Morgan assured him again, this time sounding like his voice almost broke.

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. He was too tired to cry and too tired to think. All he could think was of the cold and the pain, so bitter and sick. He felt his back being lowered on to a soft surface. The aroma of Morgan swept through his nose and all he could smell was Derek in the purest form. He felt the tough hands, softly push the matted curls out of his face and a warm washcloth brush his forehead, yet he dare not open his eyes. He wanted to see Derek, but he could hardly stand to see his melancholy expression. Derek was normally fiercely protective, but he knew that pitiful state he was in just made Derek feel as if he were caring for a sick child. A warm, flat object was rested on his skinny torso, and he felt Derek’s fingers touch his ribs.

“Holy shit, Spencer, what the hell did you do to yourself?” Derek’s voice was borderline angry, surprised, depressing, and unbelievable all at the same time.

He could only moan, shifting slightly and shiver as he opened his eyes. They felt almost unbearably heavy, and his eyes burned with the light. Derek turned to leave, turning off the light.

“Wait,” Spencer let the word fall out of his mouth, wishing he could take it back, “Derek.”

“Hmm?” He spun around.

“W-will you stay w-with me?”

“Of course, kid.”

Spencer shifted slightly, letting Derek lie down next to his pitiful body. He could smell him again and he treasured the scent, closing his eyes gently. He turned on to his side to face Derek, curling up in the fetal position and letting sleep drag him under.

He woke nearly an hour later, nestled into Derek’s warm arms. Derek was fully asleep, peaceful and his whole body relaxed. Spencer felt the corner of his mouth twitch, closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep once again.

-

Spencer Reid was throwing up.

Again.

He leaned over the toilet bowl, his forehead blazing hot, as a shiver rushed through his body. He gripped the edges of the bowl with white knuckles. His whole body ached with the potency of a shark attack (although, indeed, withdrawal from Dilaudid was much more common than a shark attack). Sighing, he took a deep breath and wiped the spit from the corner of his mouth. The light trickled in through the bathroom window, hitting him in the eyes. He wiped at his eyes, trying to liberate his eyes from the burning sensation. His whole head pounded with the sensation. He gagged again on the bitter taste of his bile because he had nothing else in his stomach to throw up. He shivered again, the cold sweat forming on his forehead and arms once again.

“Fuck,” he whispered as laid down, reaching into his pocket for the miniscule dose.

“Reid?” he heard a voice down the hall as he shakily held the bottle and pulled the needle out, taking the half-dose into the needle. He untied the loose tie from his neck, ripping it off and tying it around his bony upper arm. He pushed the needle into his skin, easily finding the vein and slowly squeezing the top, sighing loudly as he injected the liquid into the vein. His nails dug into the shag carpet of Derek’s floor.

“Spencer?” Derek’s voice seemed urgent as he heard a knock at the door. He squeezed the rest of the fluid into his arm as he heard another loud knock at the door. He bit his lip as he heard a loud bang and suddenly the door was on the floor, Derek just staring at him from the other side, his face crestfallen. Spencer felt his lip quiver as the small second of relief passed, his hands shaking.

“So sick,” He whispered, “Sorry.”

“Jesus Christ, Reid,” Derek shook his head as he kneeled next to the shivering man.

“I need it,” he bit his lip, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Derek stated, standing up.

“No!” Spencer felt himself yelp loudly.

“Look at yourself, Reid! I don’t think you’ve eaten in like two weeks and when you said you needed a vacation, we didn’t think you mean this. You need help!” Derek spat.

“I need Dilaudid. I don’t need your nagging. Please give me a phone.” Spencer felt the tears jump to his eyes as he curled his hands into fists.

“I swear to God, you are impossible! Aren’t you tired? You’re going to waste away!” Derek shouted as he pulled himself back up to his feet.

“Why do you fucking care so much? I just- I just need- I need- I need,” Spencer felt the hot tears soak down his face as his breaths hitched in his chest. He tried to take a deep breath and instead a sob came down as he clutched the bloody needle in his shaky hand.

“Spencer…” he heard Derek’s voice in the background but all he could do was just cry, shivering and shaking from the pain. Spencer put his face in his knees, rocking back and forth as he wrapped his arms around his legs.

Suddenly the warm cinnamon-soap-clean scent was in his nose and the warm arms that he felt whole in were wrapped around his freezing body. He uncoiled his body and wrapped his arms around Derek, sobbing into the shoulder of his t-shirt. He grabbed handfuls of Derek’s shirt in his fists and his whole body tensed. He felt dazed, in a sort of colic-y delirium of sobbing and pure emotion in the rawest form scraping into his lungs. He felt the exhaustion set in, dampening his brain even more than it already had. He felt the inky blackness of sleep dragging him away as he felt his head and body pulling away backwards.

“Reid?” he heard as a background noise before he drifted off, “SPENCER!”

-

He woke to the sound of beeping machines and an oxygen mask being put on his face. He took a deep breath, the panic seizing his body as his eyes opened wide. His nails dug into the fabric of the stretcher.

“Reid?” He heard Derek’s voice ring out and he struggled against the paramedics.

“Please lie down,” a female paramedic with dark brunette hair held him down.

“Derek,” he whimpered softly as he saw the mocha skinned man walk over to his side, “I assume I’m in an ambulance.”

“Do you have any ambulance statistics, kid?” Derek forced a smile.

“On average, 2,600 people are injured in 1,500 ambulance accidents each year,” he whispered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

“I cannot fucking believe you,” Derek shook his head as he stifled a laugh.

-

Spencer whimpered as he sat up in his hospital bed. His heart monitor beeped as he peered around the room. Derek whistled as he walked into the room with a paper cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of Jell-O and spoon in the other. Spencer closed his eyes.

“You haven’t told the team yet, have you?” He asked.

“Holy shi-,” Derek jumped backwards, surprised by the speaking Spencer.

“Well?” Spencer shifted, opening his eyes.

“Um, no,” Derek put his coffee and Jell-O down on a small table next to a chair, “But I will.”

“Please don’t,” he said quietly.

“Don’t?” Derek scoffed, “They want you to get better. I want you to get better.”

Spencer shrugged and spat, “It’s my life. Why do you care so much?” Closing his eyes, he instantly regretted his words as he remembered his mother.

“Because I fucking need you, okay?” He sipped the last of his coffee and crushed the cup before throwing it in the trash and running out of the room, leaving Spencer in shock.

“Derek?” Spencer called before he could even think, “Derek!”

The silence began to fill the room the room to the brim again, leaving Spencer with crushed feeling lungs, a head full of static-y thoughts, and a mouth full of word vomit. 

-

After Spencer managed a path through the flowers and balloons and shit everyone and their brother had left in front of his apartment door, he laid back down on the couch he had suffered the first part of his withdrawal on and stared at the ceiling. He turned on to his side and spotted the packet of needles on the table. He winced as the doorbell rang, remembering Derek’s words.

He opened the door to Derek, holding a cake in his hands that said ‘Congrats Reid!’ in curly-cue pink frosting.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek said in a hushed voice.

“I have so many little cookies and stuff that I’m pretty sure they want me to get hooked on sugar just after I was weaned off of Dilaudid.” His mouth twitched.

“I told you people cared, kid.” Derek walked past him and placed the cake on the kitchen counter.

“Rehab sucked,” he commented.

“Almost losing you sucked.” Derek pulled out a chair and sat.

“Hardly.” He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus fuck, how hard is it to accept that I love you?!” Derek screamed before covering his face, “Shit, I love you so much.”

Spencer smelled the cinnamon soap clean scent of mocha man with the warm brown eyes and felt himself crumble a little as he rushed to Derek.

“You…love…me?” he choked out as he grabbed Derek’s hands in his.

A deep crimson blush rushed across Spencer’s face as he bit his lip again.

He leaned forward slowly, just inches away from Derek’s face as he softly kissed his cheek. His body shook again, the endorphins rising inside of him. Derek stood up slowly, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s and leaned in slowly, closing the gap. His lips pressed against the ruggedly soft lips of Derek Morgan. He tasted of sweet coffee and milk chocolate. It was raw and sweet and _real_ , unlike all of the Dilaudid highs with euphoria and the sense of reality stripped away. It was sobering and ineffable, leaving him pulling away slowly and drenched in ecstasy and exhilaration.

Spencer felt his whole body tense again, but this time with the kind of drug that left butterflies instead of track marks and ripped up nail beds.


End file.
